


Lessons in Breaking

by Hitsugi_Zirkus



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/Hitsugi_Zirkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing but the feeling of finally breaking when Aoba starts regaining memories of his pain and anger. But unlike Clear, perhaps he didn’t deserve to be fixed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Breaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikkaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkaria/gifts).



> ALRIGHT a few weeks ago I asked the Clear Squad for some prompts. This one was kindly supplied by Nikki, for whom this fic is gifted for uvu This was a really touching and important aspect of Clear and Aoba's relationship I think, so I kindly thank you dear for giving such an interesting prompt!

Things were coming back to him, through his dreams. Sometimes throughout Aoba’s day, by passing a certain alley or getting slightly irritated at something, he’d blink and have the brief notion that some film of memory was rolling in front of his vision, but in the end it was always far too faint to see. It was enough to make him dizzy for a few seconds, but that was the extent of it.

At night however, when his mind swirled the memories of the day around and sorted them in his already crowded head, that was when the past shoved itself behind his eyes. In his sleep, he saw through his younger self: the little boy who snapshot the last moment he saw his parents walking out the door, the one who cried in under his blankets for days; there was also the teenaged boy scraping his knuckles on brick walls and the jaws of gang underlings. Aoba would come across memories that explained some of the scars on his body, or why he sought out music to be his solace.

While painful, none of these memories particularly affected him. What was past was past, and just shaped who he was now. Right now, he was in the present, and he was laying down next to Clear, smiling at him as they snuggled close for sleep. This was like any other night they had for the past few months.

“Goodnight, Aoba-san,” Clear said sweetly, kissing the corner of his lips.

Aoba let out a content hum, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Clear.”

In his sleep that night, he destroyed people.

The world was bright and a blur of electricity and neon. Minds and digital bodies were crumbling away at his feet, and in his hands. There was the crash of screams that didn’t belong to him. The deep, crawling laughter in his throat though, that was his own. Aoba could feel his boiling anger and desire rise like hot steam, rushing through his veins in satisfaction of the destruction around him.

He was in the hospital, and a nurse was looking down at him, probably merely checking his status. In the haze of his dream-memory, Aoba knew that this was the consequence of his “Rhyme accident” that Granny had told him about.

Which meant when the nurse got too close, he’d seize her arm. Then, grinning, he’d proclaim it.

“ _I’m going to enter you now_.”

The vertigo to being pulled into her consciousness ended quickly. He was sucked in then spat out to the waking world, terror holding him down. The fear in the nurse’s eyes evaporated in the light of his room that was gradually growing brighter with the rise of the morning sun.

Aoba sat up. In the back of his mind, he registered that Clear wasn’t sleeping beside him. That was normal. Clear was an early riser, and so he was likely helping Granny with breakfast. Judging by the distant sound of clatter downstairs and the absence of Ren, that was about right to assume.

That left Aoba alone with his thoughts. The memories that he’d just remembered were still vivid, so much that Aoba could swear he still felt adrenaline running in his body, and that his hands would somehow hold evidence of all the minds he’d broken. Of course, as he turned over his palms and flexed his fingers, there was nothing there. There was nothing there.

So what was this new weight closing in on him?

It bothered him for the next few days. Flashes of white beds and IV drips flashed in his vision, of himself being hooked to them, of Mizuki being confined to the hospital only until recently. Aoba had already visited his friend after some debate, but he knew he had to take responsibility. With Mizuki’s reassurance, and his same open grin, Aoba found it in him to forgive himself. Mizuki didn’t hate him.

Except he should. Everyone should. He caused his mess in the first place by just existing. His body and voice were a curse. And for such a long time, he projected his own anger and loneliness by hurting other people, just like he’d done to Mizuki. Aoba didn’t deserve the smiles of his friend.

Not even Clear’s smiles were something that should be for him.

Clear didn’t understand a lot of things when it came to humans. He knew enough to get by, but deciphering emotions and moods was something he was still trying to be able to do. In the evenings when they washed dishes, his gaze would linger on Aoba, as if trying to place if his hands were scrubbing a bit too slow, or if the corners of his lips were tugged down too low. When Aoba picked Clear up from Black Needle, he was quiet. Sometimes he didn’t realize how quiet until they were at the front door and they’d done nothing but exchange the superficial sort of greetings.

Finally, Clear seemed to have accumulated enough evidence in his observance to corner Aoba out on his balcony one night.

“Um, Aoba-san?”

“Hmm?” Aoba looked over his shoulder, away from the limited scenery of the building across the street and the few stars peeking out between the roofs. There was a glass of water held in his hands, a substitute since they ran out of the bottled kind. Clear had happily suggested a grocery shopping date for tomorrow since it was the weekend. Aoba hadn’t smiled when he agreed.

Clear came closer, his bare feet hitting the concrete as he joined Aoba. “Maybe I’m overthinking it? But I keep looking at Aoba-san, and I think that something is wrong. So could it be something is troubling you?”

At first, Aoba was ready to brush it off. But being with Clear had taught his tongue to be nothing short of honest. After all, he didn’t want Clear to ever think that he was “overthinking” something, or complicating a matter. Saying things like that in earnest would only hurt Clear, who was trying his best to understand the lives around him.

That said, was Aoba “overthinking” as well? He bit his lip. “Ah. Maybe. Something has been on my mind. But I don’t want to worry you.” He didn’t deserve those kind, open eyes staring at him in such worry.

Of course, that didn’t stop Clear. Aoba was a fool to think it would. As it was, Clear’s hands reached out. Fearing that understanding touch overflowing with love, Aoba shot his hands out to stop him. The glass in his hands was forgotten in his hot rejection, and with his hands occupied, even Clear’s reflexes couldn’t catch it time before it shattered on the balcony.

Somewhere in that flow of familiar-but-not terror of love and acceptance, and the glass breaking out in shards at his feet, Aoba heard the screams of people he hurt - including himself. Himself and his “other” self. And Aoba locked himself in those feelings in a panic, backing away from the mess as if the shards as sprung out to attack him.

“No!” he said. Then, right after, “I’m sorry! Y-you surprised me. Let me get a towel--”

“Aoba-san!” Clear blocked the way, and immediately enveloped him in his arms.

Aoba froze. Again, he thought how he shouldn’t stand here. He thought about how hard Clear tried, about how it was his fault that Clear broke, his fault that Clear woke up to this world… But then he was feeling guilty, because how could he think of Clear’s existence as a regret? It was a never-ending spiral of heavy doom that was pulling him down from his core.

Everything he’d been working so hard to tape up...he remembered who broke it all in the first place.

He started to cry. Clear’s familiar scent was so wonderful. He was so solid.

For a few minutes, Aoba tried muffling his sobs onto Clear’s shirt. A seawall protecting him finally couldn’t hold back the wild ocean of his heart, and all the fears and worries were spilling everywhere like the water in the glass he’d dropped. But Clear let him cry. He held Aoba tightly, his fingertips digging into his back as if he were in pain as Aoba was. All Aoba heard was his cries and the shattering of glass and minds and memories too dear for him to be worthy of holding anymore.

But when it was all done, Clear led him back inside. He went downstairs for a new glass of water, and gently pleaded for Aoba to drink it as he cleaned up the mess on the balcony. In the growing silence, Aoba tried to process what had happened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d broken down like this. Maybe when Clear had… His throat closed.

“Aoba-san,” Clear said, sensing the return of the panic. He was sitting next to Aoba on the bed, their hips touching. “Please tell me what made you so sad.”

Even though he was plagued with the fear that he’d do it again, he could break Clear all over again in a heartbeat, and maybe for good, Aoba’s trembling lips still opened. He held Clear’s hand tight enough to feel the hard ball of his metal knuckles, and closed his eyes even tighter as he let the memories of his teenaged years play again behind his eyelids. He connected every person’s misery to be his doing. He brought up Mizuki. He brought up his family, himself, and Clear too.

If he was such a terrible person, then why was he allowed to have these things now? Aoba wasn’t sure where words such as “allowed” were coming from. He wasn’t sure when his top fears suddenly became “rejection”. The terror of being alone was familiar, but this was the first time that he thought perhaps he deserved it.

By the end of it, Aoba was leaning heavily against Clear, panting from the effort of explaining what had been tormenting his mind. His body still had pleasured goosebumps prickle the skin as Clear gently brushed his fingertips through Aoba’s hair. It didn’t hurt. For once, his hair wasn’t the most fragile part of his body. Every past scar on his body and inside him seared worse than anything.

But then Clear murmured his name, said it like a cherished prayer. His lips found the top of Aoba’s head, his forehead, below his eyes and his own mouth. Then he turned Aoba’s hands over, and kissed his palms.

“You didn’t know better,” was what he said at the end. And it was the way he said it, that Aoba knew he was not only being sincere, but he was also speaking from experience.

When Clear has woken up and confused Aoba to be his master, he hadn’t known better. When he’d forgotten what he was, he hadn’t known better. When Clear messed up something that was basic human knowledge, it was because he quite literally didn’t know better.

“Back then, Aoba-san was a different person,” Clear said. “Aoba-san was hurting. It is bad that you had to hurt other people, but when you’re still learning how to control your power, what could you do? The same goes for what happened to Mizuki-san.”

“Clear, that doesn’t excuse it. Simply ‘not knowing’ doesn’t excuse this kind of thing.”

Without pause, Clear said, “You’re right. It doesn’t excuse it. It’s horrible. But you’ve learned so much since then, Aoba-san. You tried so hard to make things better by visiting Mizuki-san, by learning to use your powers to help people instead, by loving me so hard that you brought me back to you. ‘Not knowing’ doesn’t excuse what you used to do, but you’ve learned to try and make this never happen again.”

Aoba lost his breath. As Clear spoke, the jagged pieces in his head slowly came into focus again. It was just enough to clear the noise in between his ears, and ease the thudding of his heart as much as Clear’s lullaby could.

 _When was it that he became the teacher between us?_ Aoba wanted to give a small, fond laugh.

 _As if I was always the teacher in the first place. Since the beginning, Clear’s been teaching me too_.

“I don’t want to hurt people again.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Aoba-san. I already know you do your best. I feel it every day.” Clear kissed the top of his head again, then held Aoba to him. “You’re not your past, Aoba-san.”

 _I’m not my past_. Clear wasn’t a tool of Toue anymore. Aoba wasn’t the personification of destruction his powers meant him to be.

“I love you, Aoba-san.” Clear said it quietly. It was still full of love, but the hesitance came from if Aoba would recoil away like before.

Aoba closed his eyes, and brought himself back to this present moment, where everything that had previously seemed impossible, finally came together in a series of bold and colorful and inconsequential events. Aoba was still learning just as much as Clear. He was still confused on some things, and he’d likely have the danger of becoming lost again as more of his memories returned. Maybe one day he’d eventually have to encounter his “other” self again.

That was okay. Aoba had to trust that Clear wouldn’t leave. He had to trust that it was okay that they’d part eventually. But most of all, he had to trust that right now, this love and acceptance was more than enough to keep him steady.

Linking their hands together, woven in all the invisible and silvery scars, Aoba smiled in Clear’s collarbone. “Thank you,” he said, recalling the response he gave when Clear first confessed to him in the rain. Unlike last time though, Aoba was sure he returned Clear’s feelings.

Based on how Clear kissed him again, he knew it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr, clears-jellyfish-dress  
> Twitter, @fuwajellyfish


End file.
